


Day In The Life

by beekeepercain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Minor Injuries, Sexual Content, Slice of Life, Trans Sam Winchester, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 02:57:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10295879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: There's a werewolf case to be solved. That, and the usual things.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another request! First Sastiel I've ever written, too. More diversity for my boring Archive, I guess.

* * *

 

The room is pitch black until the alarm goes off. Sam twitches idly, then turns his gaze towards the lit screen of his phone; he moves his hand to it in an absent manner and swipes the alarm off, returning silence in its place. Then he pulls up, sighs, and turns on the bedside light. In its glow, he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a black v-neck shirt, takes his phone with him and turns off the light again. With nothing but the screen of his phone, he finds the doorway and exits his bedroom, still feeling heavy and sensitive with sleep. He's about to enter the kitchen when another alert buzzes in his pocket. He stops and looks at the screen: a message with a single letter "T" sits on it, and a small huff escapes him as he swipes the alert off.

Dean's not awake yet. It doesn't surprise him, but he makes coffee for two anyway. While the machine gurgles and starts dripping into the thermos pot, Sam heads towards the hallway and the stairs up. It's seven in the morning, and when he pushes his feet into his shoes and forces open the heavy door out, he's greeted by a misty sunrise painting the scenery with gentle pastel shades and an army of birds chirping in the surrounding trees. It's still cold, and he shudders as the final layer of warmth he's retained from the comfort of his bed sheds off of him, but it merely makes him smile a little as he takes the first running steps and sets on the usual course. The chilly morning envelopes him and embraces him as he jogs past the fallow fields around the bunker, with wind blowing through the few treetops along the side of the road. He can feel the heat of blood flowing through his limbs, and the slight breathlessness that catches up with him soon enough makes him feel alive for the moment. It's easy to rush through this scenery: he's done it for years, less out of the need for exercise and more out of the longing for calm, and he knows every twist and turn of the path and the unpaved tracks through the fields like the corridors of his own home. He stops briefly once sweat starts to gather up over his forehead, but only to twist up his hair into a ponytail with a band he keeps in his pocket, and off he goes again - it takes him half an hour to run the usual course, and once he's done with it, he takes an extra mile off a different track, heading home a little later than usual.

He's wet when he comes back, and with the sun's climbing heat behind him, the cool touch of the underground base feels welcome to him. He jogs down the stairs, releasing his hair again as he goes, and he tucks the band back into his pocket where it belongs for the next time he gets to run; Dean won't catch him with his hair tied if he can help it. But Dean's still not awake, and Sam heads into shower with the silence of the bunker surrounding him like a blanket. He's quick with it, merely washing off the sweat with soap, and exits soon with his towel wrapped around his hips. Then, just as he's moving past Dean's bedroom door, it opens. He grants a small smile to his brother and nods, and Dean lifts his brows at him with a crooked, tired smirk.

"Why do you look like you've been awake for hours?" he asks, and he's got small crinkles from his pillow all over his right cheek.

"I'm still young. There's coffee in the kitchen," Sam chuckles and passes him by.

Dean shrugs - Sam can hear him turn and head for coffee as he turns for his own bedroom instead.

In his bedroom, Sam's got a small stash of medicine hidden away for whatever needs he's got: there's a supply of painkillers of varying strengths, some alcohol, and a pile of unused syringes and needles in two sizes. He kneels down to grab a set, and picks an unopened box from beside them before heading back to his bed. He sits down with a weary sigh, drags open the front of his towel and rests the hems on both sides of his thigh. With steady hands he attaches the first needle into the syringe, then opens the box and pulls out a small ampoule from inside: he sticks the needle inside and starts dragging out the thick gel-like liquid, stopping once to turn on the radio. Quietly, he hums along to the music as he finishes and changes the needle to a much thinner one, and without hesitation or trouble locates the large muscle in his thigh, to which he sticks the needle without flinching. It takes a minute or so to get the gel through, but once he's done, he presses a napkin against the damaged skin and pulls the needle out: in forty seconds, he's got a tiny band-aid on his leg, and in one and a half, he's fully dressed again. He throws the used supplies in the trash on his way out back to the kitchen.

"Found anything interesting yet?" he asks Dean as he seats himself by the table; his brother's got a large cup of coffee beside his tablet, and the creases between his brows communicate to Sam exactly what he's doing.

"There's..." Dean starts, then picks up his mug and drinks, "A werewolf, I think. Four hours or so from here. I'm saying we handle it."

"What's it say?"

Dean turns the tablet around and hands it to Sam. The article's brief, but it's full moon and the victim has his heart removed - it seems plain enough. Sam nods as he hands the tablet back to Dean.

"Any word from Cas?" he asks, and Dean chuckles in that annoying manner he's taken to every time Sam so much as mentions the angel's name. Sam answers his look with an unimpressed one, ignoring the way he's wiggling his brows at him and smirking knowingly.

"Shouldn't you know?" Dean asks him, keeping up with the wiggling and the smirking.

Sam rolls his eyes.  
"Forget that I asked," he grunts and sips his coffee.

"No, no. No. I got a message yesterday."

"What did he say?"

"Asked how you were."

Sam lifts his gaze back to Dean and raises his brows slowly, expecting a jest.

"Seriously," Dean confirms, "That's all he said. He asked me how you were, instead of asking you how you are. I think he's shy or something."

"Huh."

"Yeah. Well, I told him you're fine as far as I'm concerned, and that he should probably ask you personally next time. So you can thank me for that."  
  
Sam chuckles and shakes his head, lifting his cup back to his lips.  
"Give him some time," he says then with a small laugh, "He's - not exactly used to this."

"Neither am I. I thought, once you two got it on, I'd have to do less of this middle-manning, but nope, here I am, doing the middle man thing all over again."

"I think he - worries he might come across as too eager if he contacts me as often as he wants to," Sam grins into his mug, "I mean, we've never really talked that frequently. We both just really enjoyed it when it happened. I don't know, I want him to talk to me, obviously, but he seems to think that everything has to stay the same."

"You should probably talk to him about that."

"I'll try."

"Good. Because I'm going to turn off my phone the next time he calls me to talk about you, you know," Dean grunts.

A faint blush lingers over Sam's cheeks as he drinks, but he doesn't say anything more about Castiel. He'll come around when he dares to, Sam figures; it's been a couple months like this, with much not changing despite the lingering questions between them.

"So, we'll drive today," he says instead.

Dean nods.

"Speaking of werewolves," the older brother adds, "We'll need some more silver bullets. They're starting to run out."

"Do we have enough for one hunt?"

A shrug.  
"I mean, if it's one wolf, we've got him. If it's twenty, not so much."

"Let's hope it's not twenty, then."

"I'm hoping for two. One kill for each of us."

"Don't get too excited."

"Nah. Anyway, I'm gonna make some bacon and make sure the car's set to go. Pack up in the meanwhile, okay?"

"Sure."

 

* * *

 

Sam packs a few shirts, three pairs of boxers and two pairs of jeans alongside a haul of clean socks - he'll need them all even if the hunt will only take three days or so, but they have to pack light, so if the hunt goes beyond those three days, well, laundromat it is. He throws in a bottle of water, a roll-on, and then heads out to grab his toothbrush and some shampoo for the motel room. After leaving his bag in the corridor, he heads out to fill up the cooler: Dean will want his beers, but Sam prefers to prepare a smoothie for the car ride instead, and he nuzzles it alongside the bottles as tightly as he can to fit another two bottles of water with them. And then he's done - what he's left, Dean will grab. An hour later, they're on the road.

The ride's long with the sun beaming hot from above with hardly a cloud in the sky. There's no sign of the chill that lingered over Kansas at sunrise, and the endless heat with few shadows to spare on the open roads make the Impala hot like a sauna. But Dean's happy; he keeps chatting loudly about nothing in particular (movies, music, something he read online) and Sam lets it all go through one ear and out the other one as he leans his head against the door and enjoys the feeling of the wind blasting through the open window against his forehead. About two hours in, his phone buzzes, announcing an incoming message: he picks it up and smiles absently at Castiel's name on the screen.

_Where are you?_

_Kansas,_ Sam replies, _About to hunt a werewolf._

_Let me know where you stay, I might just make it to see you two today._

"Cas wants to drop by," Sam lets out, eyes still upon his phone's screen as he types a simple _OK_ in response, "Later once we've settled in."

"Good. Great. Do you need some, uh, alone time or should I stick around?"

Sam rolls his eyes, a hot blush creeping over his cheekbones regardless. He hides his phone back inside his pocket and turns his eyes towards the road instead.

"He wanted to see both of us, so yes, you should stick around."

"But..."

"There's no but."

"But," Dean chuckles, "I should probably find a lonely lady to home me for the night anyway. Gotcha."

"I didn't say -"

"No, but you need it. So I'll make the sacrifice, Sammy, I'm a good brother. Just don't do it on my bed."

In the resulting silence, the wind's sound feels deafening in Sam's ears. Then, just when Dean's sighed and started searching for a better radio station, Sam lets out a laugh.

"Promise," he says, and Dean glances at him in a part-horrified, part-gleeful manner.

 

* * *

 

They grab some food to take with them once they enter town. After finding a local motel that's about their price range and seems to be not quite completely unsanitary or otherwise unacceptable, they settle in, carrying their bags and necessities inside the room. Then they eat: Sam's salad has some chili and beans in it, while Dean's burger seems to consist almost entirely out of cheese and bacon. Sam's not sure how the guy's digestive system makes it: his own started protesting a long time ago to anything processed, which wasn't much of a let-down for him. It had been more like just another excuse to keep eating healthy; for Dean, an early-onset heart disease seems preferable to anything green.

After eating, they head back outdoors. Donning a full suit, Sam feels like the weather will end him before they so much as reach the police station, but somehow he makes it there, sweaty but alive. Inside the station, the air conditioning howls at high alert, and everywhere they go a cold breeze seems to follow them: it's a welcome change to the weather outside.

The next stop they make is the mortuary. It seems clear-cut: all signs point towards an animal attack, the gashes, the lacerations and the bite marks, but the heart is gone and that's all they need to know. Dean socializes the grumpy mortician while Sam tries to find anything else unusual from the body, but there's nothing there that hasn't already been found - no teeth, no hex bags, no nothing of big significance. After washing his hands a good few times, Sam follows Dean back to the car.

"Crime scene or loved ones?" Dean asks him.

"Both," Sam sighs, getting comfortable in his seat, "I'll deal with the talking if you drop me in the neighbourhood, you go search the bar and the park the vic was found in."

"Deal," Dean grins and starts the car again.

 

* * *

 

Sam drinks coffee with the widow and talks briefly with her 3-years-old son. After that, he chats with the neighbours; the victim was well-liked and had no apparent enemies, but as far as werewolf motives go, that doesn't surprise him. Afterwards he catches a bus back to the motel only to find Castiel sitting outside of it. The angel smiles at him and stands up from the bench, and for a moment Sam nearly expects him to shake hands with him, but instead, Castiel steps up to him and hugs him. Sighing in relief, Sam lets himself sink into that embrace, and he wraps his arms around the other and holds him tightly to feel his warmth, and he's almost certain he can feel some foreign energy pulsing between them, like the angel's halo is radiating against him. They move inside, out of the unforgiving heat of late afternoon. It's hardly any better indoors, but at least the room provides shade.

"Hey," Sam says breathlessly as he sinks into a chair; he watches Castiel as the male stands there, still smiling although now quite nervously. "It's been..."

"A while," Castiel completes his sentence, "Yes, I... I was - I didn't know if - well."

"You're always welcome," Sam reminds him with a light chuckle, "And honestly, you're not - wearing me out or anything, if that's what you're afraid."

The angel's posture relaxes a little.

"I'd love to see more of you. Really," Sam finishes and gives him a sincerely pleading look.

A faint smile crosses Castiel's features and he nods.  
"I understand. Thank you. I'll... Well, I'll... come around more often, then."

"That'd... yeah, I'd love that," Sam laughs, and Castiel lets out a small chuckle as well before sitting nearby Sam.

They look at each other for a moment before Sam reaches out his hand and strokes the angel's cheek with his fingers; he has a fond look on him, a little tired but happy, and his insides seem to twist with some nervous energy as he looks into the angel's eyes. Then he leans forwards and steals a kiss from him, and Castiel returns the gesture, his lips moving softly against Sam's. Outside, a black Impala takes the turn for the parking lot, and Sam spots it from the corner of his vision. They both turn towards it, although Sam's hand ends up on Castiel's lap and seeks out his hand in return, fingers wrapping around it. He feels a little disappointed about the lack of time they had to share alone, but it's easy to remind himself that Dean promised to leave them for the night - that should just about be enough time to really connect again. He gives Castiel a look and finds him watching him with a smile, and his heart skips a beat.

It's been a long while since he last felt this way about anyone, he realises with blush creeping over his cheeks again.

Dean climbs up the stairs and knocks sharply on the door, and Sam springs up and lets him in.

"Anything good?" he asks, voice still breathless, which immediately catches Dean's attention.

The older brother's eyes search the room and still upon Castiel's shape. A grin appears on him and he steps past Sam to hug the angel.

"Hey there," he says in an exceptionally happy tone, patting Castiel on the back, "Long time, pal."

"Yes," Castiel replies somewhat apologetically, "Sam already made that clear."

"Good. You've been shamed so I can skip it. I was thinking about dinner," Dean changes the topic, looking back at Sam with his hand still on Castiel's shoulder, "We could talk the case over burgers if you're hungry."

Sam shrugs, exchanging looks with Castiel. A smile pushes itself on his lips as he turns back to Dean and tilts his head.

"Sure," he says, and out they move again.

 

* * *

 

They catch a table and spread around it with coffees for all, a burger for Dean and a special offer pasta for Sam. Castiel sits next to Sam, and Sam's glad to feel him so close even if that's the most contact he'll have for now, and the angel listens keenly as the brothers go over their findings about the victim and the circumstances under which he was attacked. They come up with a suspect: the victim was seen followed by a tall man with black hair and a few piercings, and Sam remembers the widow mentioning something about a pierced man in his interview as well. It seems like the man has appeared a few times in the victim's life the past few weeks - perhaps in preparation for a kill, which means the werewolf has to be aware of his transformation and at least partially in control of his actions during it. That, or they're chasing a false lead, but Sam's gut says otherwise. He cleans most of his plate and pushes the rest aside, enjoying his coffee as a dessert while Dean teases Castiel about something again - it feels so normal and so comfortable that Sam's quite sure he could fall asleep there if he laid his head against the window and closed his eyes. His eyes travel back to the angel and he's surprised to catch Castiel looking back: they both look away, smiling, and Dean groans dramatically.

"Alright, alright, stop with that," he grunts and empties his coffee, "I think I'm off to stalk the bar - if I find something we can use, I'll let you know. If I don't, well, I'll drop you a message to tell you I'm alright," he says, giving Sam a meaningful look.

Sam chuckles and nods.  
"I'll be ready if you need me," he says, "Will you take the Impala?"

Dean shakes his head.  
"You take it. I might have to tail the guy and you might need to make a quick entrance, so it's better if you have the car. Besides... there's always the chance for a romantic midnight walk for me, right?"

He winks at Sam and Sam scoffs softly.  
"Right," Sam sighs, "Well, good luck."

"You too," Dean grins and winks again, this time at Castiel, who seems to shrink in his seat.  
He picks himself up and straightens his flannel, then gives a preparing look at the orange-tinted scenery outside, clears his throat and turns to leave.

"See you both later," he waves at them as he places the Impala's keys on the table, and both Sam and Castiel give him acknowledgement before he's gone.

Once he is, Castiel slips out of his seat and takes Dean's place opposite of Sam. He smiles at him and seems a little nervous, but Sam's sure it's in a good way: while no one's watching, Sam slides his hand across the table and touches Castiel's gently.

"So... how have you been?" Castiel asks him, his own finger playing with Sam's before the younger man pulls his hand away again to drink his coffee.

"I'm doing great," Sam lets him know right away, as if to drive away even the possibility of the opposite, "I've been - well, we didn't have a case for a while here and the trend seems to continue, this is the only case in weeks, and I've just... I've been running, reading, you know."

"What should we do tonight? Dean's looking into the bar, should we -"

"No," Sam fills in as Castiel seems to run out of suggestions, "I think we're safe just waiting in the motel room in case Dean finds something we should look into right away. So I was thinking... I have a few documentaries I've been putting aside, if you'd like to, I mean, we could watch them together. Just... be for a while, you know? I don't... get to have enough of that with you."

Castiel's smile deepens and he looks away as if to hide. Then he nods, picking up his coffee on instinct and drinking it, possibly to mask the lack of words for a moment longer. Then he looks back at Sam and his eyes look light and warm and happy, an expression that has for the longest time been more than unusual for him. Sam takes a long breath and tries to calm his heart, but the truth is, he's enjoying every moment of this.

"That sounds good," Castiel finally says, "I would love to do that with you."

Sam nods and empties his coffee.  
"Let's get going, then."

 

* * *

 

Castiel's back leans against the headboard of Sam's bed, and Sam's curled up against him, head resting over his shoulder and knees bent over his thighs. He's just about to fall off the bed at any moment, but it feels so damn nice there that he doesn't want to move. They've got the laptop propped over the bundled-up blanket with the second documentary about half-way through, and outside, sun's setting, leaving a stark red glow against the curtains covering up the window. Dean's left a few messages - that he's alright, that everything's clear, that the waitress seems into him - and Sam's restful and quite unfocused on the case they're working on for once. It doesn't bother him, for the time being, that there's a werewolf on the loose. Nothing much does, in fact. And for the first time between the two of them, he doesn't feel nervous about this either - all about how they are now, how their bodies connect and bend around one another, feels right and good. There's no tension in Castiel either, and he's breathing restfully with the occasional smile appearing and vanishing from his lips as his eyes wander off the screen and towards Sam. Sam catches him from it often, and it makes him feel warm in return: they can spend an embarrassing amount of time just looking at each other before finally focusing on the film again, but with no one there to judge them, it doesn't seem to matter.

The comfort - and the rare luxury of privacy - stirs something within Sam. He finds himself breathing funny, with all of his senses hypersensitive to register everything about Castiel there beside him: the almost unnoticeable buzz of celestial energy, his soft scent, the warmth of his body and the way it feels against Sam's own skin wherever they touch, all of those sensations suddenly seem heightened and the sensory signals are doing a great job at making Sam dizzy. His heart picks up, and he knows Castiel senses all of this. He's reading him like an open book but for the time being, the angel's making no note of it whatsoever; the corner of his mouth tugs upwards and stays that way, but he won't look at Sam, not even when Sam looks at him.

Finally, the hunter undoes his curl and props himself into a better position on the bed. He swallows thickly as he pauses the documentary and closes the laptop, moving it aside onto the table instead.

"Cas," he breathes out in a nervous manner, and their eyes finally lock again; "I..."

"I'm fine with it," Castiel confirms before Sam can figure out the words.

It's not their first time, but they haven't gotten very far yet. It's all been very slow with them - from getting to know one another to confidently calling the other a friend to something akin to brotherhood and over to these unfamiliar waters. Sam's never seen Castiel without his clothes, and Castiel, as far as Sam knows, has never seen him; they've done quite a few things together by now, but with the few stolen moments they've gotten to share, it's all been hasty and mostly over the clothes. Now Sam starts off by climbing onto the male's lap and settling there to kiss him on the mouth and the neck, fingers sneaking underneath his suit jacket to push it off, taking the time to reveal the softer, thinner white shirt from underneath it. His tie falls off and slithers onto the floor, and Sam presses his hips down, letting his lips part and a small sigh escape through the gap between them. Castiel's mouth seeks his out again and joins them together, and they kiss for a while, gently, with the movements spelling out questions that they answer voicelessly with care and patience by leaning forwards or backing away.

There's a part of Sam that dreads the door suddenly slamming open, an old fear he's always carried with him through his life. In the past, it's always been a risk to start anything, as Dean - or before him, John - has always been within a moment's reach, never quite considerate enough to knock before entering. For Sam more than them, it's been a struggle; he's never had the luxury of locking himself in the bathroom for a quick one, or going out for a ride with any willing girl he's met on the way, and it's left a mark in him, a certain tension that takes a long time to lose against comfort and the sensation of safety. But with Castiel, he's closer to that place than ever, just about ready to relax and let go; he leans his head back and lets the angel kiss him over his throat and his collarbones, his flannel slipping down his shoulders and his v-neck giving way for the other's touches. He shivers when he grabs the hem of his shirt and starts tugging it off, but Castiel doesn't show any sign of surprise or tension when he does so. Quite the contrary, he seems to have waited for it and continues kissing Sam's body through the moment he's given the chance to do it: his mouth moves over and past the patch of hair in the middle of Sam's chest, and before Sam really realises what's about to happen, he's led the man on his back on the bed and leaned his own body between Sam's legs. The fabric of Sam's jeans digs into his thighs and he chuckles breathlessly, bringing his hands down to tug the collar down his hips to give his legs some room: the thought of pulling the jeans _up_ doesn't even cross his mind. At the same time, Castiel's lips find his nipples, and he closes his eyes and brings his hand up into the angel's hair.

"Would you..." he lets out in a shaky voice, "Would you... go all the way tonight?"

Castiel sits up slowly, his palm resting over Sam's suddenly quite sensitive stomach. He examines Sam as Sam stays there on his back, a halo of brown hair spread around his head, and a small smile appears on him as he nods confidently.

"If you want it," he says, and Sam shakes his head.

"No. I want you to want it, too. This - I want it to be - for both of us, not just me."

The angel takes a moment to consider, but finally, he nods again.  
"I want it," he says then, a slight frown upon his features now.

"Are you sure? You're not just - you're not just playing along for my sake?"

"No. I want it, Sam. I may not be very... good, however."

Sam laughs.  
"You've been just fine before. Don't worry - we'll figure it out together. Trust me, I'm not used to this either. But, uh - you've got to be careful at first, alright? I haven't - I don't... I might be pretty damn tight, is... what I'm trying to say."

"We'll go slowly. I don't want to hurt you."

"Thanks."

Their hands move down Sam's body together and grab his jeans at the same time, and as they both pull and push the fabric down, Sam does his best to snake out of them altogether. He's left there feeling quite exposed, but he's not worried about it; Cas doesn't need an explanation about his body. He knows everything there is to know about it - Sam never had to make any excuses, not like he often found himself doing with the women he's slept with.

"Can I touch you?" Castiel asks anyway, his voice soft and genuinely excited: it makes Sam grin, although he still covers up his eyes with his arm to hide.

He nods anyway and holds his breath as Castiel moves his hand down along the trail of hair on his abdomen; the touch of his fingers over the erect shape of Sam's clitoris makes the younger shake. Sam feels him leaning down, and the touch of the male's stubble against his jaw when Castiel bends to kiss his neck makes him shiver again just as his body wants to lock up with tension from the pleasure he feels from the touch of the other's finger moving over him, catching him in some sort of a half-way place where he's tense in places and quite pliant and loose in others. He lets out a short, muffled moan when the angel slips a finger inside him, and he's fairly certain he hasn't been this wet in years - it seems that his body's all but ready to embrace that comfort that Castiel's presence fills Sam's mind with, as it provides no resistance whatsoever. Beside him, Castiel lets out a small thoughtful and curious sound into Sam's neck, and it tickles, cutting the next moan from Sam with a throaty laugh.

"What?" he asks, bringing his arm loosely around Castiel's back.

"I love you," Castiel mutters against him, and Sam can feel his smile against his skin.

 

* * *

 

They make love for well over an hour, then collapse in a tight heap in the midst of the messy bed, breathless and struggling not to fall off the limited space available for them. Sam feels like laughing when his phone buzzes, but the only sound that manages to cross his lips is a painful moan: he reaches for the source of the disturbance and picks it up, bringing it with him to the bed.

_Our half-canine friend is here. Haul your ass over, I'll make sure he doesn't leave before we're ready. Ten minutes._

Castiel's eyes reflect the window's glow as he peers at Sam, already looking quite unwilling to go.

"It's Dean. We've got to run," Sam explains, sliding out of the bed.  
His legs tremble like mad but he can't find himself too concerned with the fact as he starts picking up his clothes from the floor.  
"I'll clean up quickly and then - wait in the car, alright, Cas?"

Castiel stands up and in a blink of an eye, he's back in full clothing, ready for anything. Sam wishes he could do the same as he watches the angel nod and pick up the car's keys from the table.

Another hour later, around midnight, Sam's legs are trembling even worse than before. He wipes blood off of his forehead and sniffs the night air, smelling the distinctive scent of gunpowder in the breeze. Dean kicks the corpse on the ground and Castiel's blade vanishes into his sleeve as if it never existed to begin with.

"Done and done," Dean grunts, "Now I bet you the waitress is already off her shift and thinks I bailed on her."

"Dean, we've got to get rid of the remains, it's not like you'll have the chance to meet up with her anyway -"

"I know. Shut up, Sam. Let me mourn."

Sam grins wearily for a second before a large yawn breaks through it. He covers it with his arm and finds himself shaking as the adrenaline fades from his system and the chilly night air finally catches up with his sweat-drenched body.

"I can take care of the body," Castiel says then, stepping forwards and kneeling beside the corpse, "You two should get some rest."

"Cas, you don't -" Sam starts, but the angel shakes his head and his words fade out.  
"You're leaving again, aren't you."

"I have to go back," Castiel tells him without looking him in the eye.  
Then, mustering up some courage, he turns towards him and manages to smile.  
"I'll be back later this week. I promise."

"Cas," Dean grunts, catching the angel's attention.

"Yes, Dean?"

"Remember what I said about calling my brother and not me if you want to know how he's doing."

Sam's certain he can see a hint of blush over Castiel's cheeks. Their eyes meet, and despite the longing that's already building in his chest, he can feel himself smiling and his smile soon catches onto Castiel as well. The angel nods.

"Of course. I'll call you soon. Both of you. But... perhaps I'll call Sam sooner."

"No hard feelings," Dean chuckles.  
Then he grimaces and lifts his hand over a cut in his shoulder.  
"Speaking of you, Sam - you've got to patch me up once we get to the motel room."

Sam nods.  
"No problem."

On the way back, they grab coffees from the diner; sleep has to wait until they've both ceased bleeding.

 


End file.
